From Ashes
by BeatriceParadisio
Summary: Kunai and orchads, jutsu and ikebana. Kakashi couldn't see how his world of stealth, violence, and death could ever fit into one of beauty and flowers. Yet as admiration turns into infatuation, it will take all of his training to stay away from the civilian that has caught his eye.
1. Prologue

AN: Hello all. This is my first Naruto fic so hopefully I get this very complex universe right. This is going to be a Kakashi centered fiction without too much of the other characters. It's rated T for now but might go to M later, but I will leave that somewhat up to the readers if they feel strongly one way or the other.

As always, I will state the obvious that I don't own Naruto, its characters, or world and I write purely for enjoyment. Also, like all writers, I live for reviews so even if you hate it I want to hear from you :) Otherwise I hope you enjoy what's to come. Chapters will be longer than the prologue. Cheers!

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**Prologue**

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He shouldn't be watching her. It was pointless and did nothing but make the attraction he felt for her burn stronger. Yet he couldn't stay away. No matter what vows he swore to himself that he would avoid the street that was home to her flower stall, his feet always seemed to carry him that way. It was as if he was addicted to way the sun made her long black hair shine, or the delicate grace in which she moved. He yearned to see her dark eyes light up with a smile to a customer or watch her create one of her masterpieces as one of the greatest practitioners of ikebana he had ever seen.

Still, it was wrong. Hatake Kakashi knew that his little infatuation could never be anything more, no matter how much he wanted it. He was a shinobi warrior while she was a civilian. His was a life of danger, violence, and death while her noble art was one of harmony, beauty, and creation. They were living in worlds so completely different that even if there was a chance he could be with her he doubted that she would even be interested.

Bringing his hand to his neck, he let out a soft sigh as he rose from the little table at the teahouse that gave him a perfect view of her stall. Her stunning flowers were nothing but a cruel reminder that her world was full of art and beauty while his was nothing but sacrifice and betrayal. Like oil and water, they were just too different and it was foolish to think otherwise.

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Hayashi Yukiko closed her shop just as the sun set, her pale silk komon shining in the scarlets of dusk. The stall was a far cry from the beautiful store her family use to own, but that, along with many things of the past, was something that had been lost forever.

Looking out over the busy street of Konoha, she couldn't help but feel the bitterness and anger that came with survival. The war that had swept through the land like a flame in a field of grass destroyed the legacy her ancestors had left her. This was after the death and destruction that was wrought by the monster known as Pain, making her loses even harder to bear.

The wide streets of Konoha did little to cheer her as she made her way to her empty home. There would be no one waiting for her there with a warm meal and chatter about their day. There would be no proud smiles over her success or the endearing nagging about finding a husband. Those days were gone, just as the people who had made her life happy.

Switching on the light of the bare room that made up the majority of her home, Yukiko felt her stinging bitterness simmering into the anger that she tried to suppress. She was angry that her family had been stolen from her by a pointless shinobi power struggle. She was angry that the warriors who were supposed to protect them had drawn death and destruction coming to their lands. Who cared that no raiders or bandits dared come to their gates when the mere presence of the Hidden Leaf shinobi was enough to attract even more dangerous people? At least bandits would leave if given money and goods, but an enemy shinobi seemed to lack any of these more human traits. They flocked to power and secrets like ants to sugar, destroying all that stood in their path without a thought of the peaceful people that were in their way.

"Stop," she ordered herself as her thoughts began to move into the darker world of hate. "Don't let them destroy you too."

The words sounded hollow to her, but it was enough to at least bite back the curse that fought to escape from her lips. She would not shame her family's honor by succumbing to the dark and twisted feelings that had destroyed more clans than history cared to remember. As the last proud Hayashi, she would continue her family's legacy of flower arranging despite being seen as little more than just another a refuge in the large village. Even if the shinobi-infested city had no interest or knowledge in her ancient art, she would work to make her name known once more. It was all she had left of her old life and she refused to let the world wipe out the memory of her ancestors without a fight.

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Reviews are greatly welcomed!


	2. Chapter 1

An: Thank you to ethos_aramis, guest 1, and guest 2 for your reviews. I appreciate that you took the time to give feedback and I hope that you enjoy this next chapter. I will be the first to admit it's a bit slow, but the rest should hopefully have a bit faster pacing. That being said, enjoy and please remember to review.

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**Chapter 1**

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Konoha was only beginning to stir as Kakashi ambled down still empty streets. He liked the town best in those few precious moments where the sun was just about to rise, bathing the sleeping inhabitants in a mixture of shadows and pale light. It was the only truly silent time in the otherwise vibrantly alive village. The late-night revelers were sleeping off their pleasures while the early morning risers had yet wake. Even the birds were silent in this brief moment of limbo between night and dawn, leaving only the cold, empty quiet.

Closing his eyes, he let the silence surround him like it had in those first few moments of death. He soaked in the still nothingness of it, reminding himself that this is what would wait him should he leave life feeling guilt and dishonor. It had been his father's fate, the man's spirit lingering by the illusion of a fire until he was finally freed from his guilt and shame by his son's forgiveness.

Although the entire experience had been one that healed one of the many wounds his heart carried, he couldn't help but recall the overwhelming silence without repeating his grim vow. He would not leave the world filled with shame that would keep him lingering in the silence until forgiven. Life was long enough without being forced to wait for peace once it finally left his body.

It was only took a few minutes before the sun finally peaked over the horizon, his mind turning to the friends he had lost over the years like it often did. There were regrets there, things he knew he could have done differently that might have changed fate, but he would not allow himself to drown in the feelings. Death came for them all at some point, though for a shinobi it was often met early on in violent ways. He wasn't sure when his time would come, but for now it seemed that the welcomed rest would have to wait.

He started to walk again, taking a different route than normal to the memorial stone as his mind turned from faces of the past to those of his students. They had been one of his greatest challenges, teaching them the lessons he learned from his now dead friend before hatred had twisted him. Teamwork had been the skill he lacked in his extreme youth, pride and unbending sense of duty causing him to ignore what was truly important.

His students had the same difficulties he had, making him wonder if fate had brought them to him. It was somewhere deep in this thought when a small movement caught his eye, his attention turning to a simple shopkeeper setting up her stall.

He didn't recognize the woman, though that was not surprising considering how many had fled to the safety of the village from their little settlements during the war. Still, his eye didn't linger on her just because she was a new face. In fact, on any other day he may have just passed by without really taking the time to look at the plainly dressed woman, but there was something that caught his eye. It may have been the simple grace she used as she began to set up her stall, each liquid movement looking like it had once been a part of an ancient dance. Or maybe it was way the pink and oranges of the sun made her sleek black hair shine that captivated him, but whatever it was he found himself staring at the woman as she went about her work.

"Kakashi-san!"

Turning, he was met with a curt greeting by one of the few non-shinobi citizens he really ever interacted with. And that was merely the byproduct of his students' love for ramen. "Good morning, Teuchi."

"I don't believe I've seen you out this early, or in this part of town before."

Kakashi shrugged, unsure of what to say to the man outside of a ramen order. "Just enjoying the sunrise."

"Ah, well stop by later and bring Naruto with you if you're hungry. I've trained in an new apprentice who needs to have his food tested."

He gave the chef a quick nod before turning back to the flower shop. The woman had disappeared, leaving only her arrangements to bask in the early morning sun. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he lazily walked over and took in the beauty of the woman's creations. They were remarkably simple, each unique pot having a variation of twigs, leaves, and flowers that seemed to be bursting with life. He felt himself drawn in by the delicate grace of each arrangement, the sparse materials somehow taking on a greater beauty than the large bouquets sold at the other flower shops in town.

Moving from table to table, he found that each arrangement caused a flash of memories to flood him; The fiery summer flowers blooming outside of his childhood home, the moss and mushrooms of the forests outside of Konoha, the graying bark of the trees surrounding the Kannabi Bridge. He felt a surge of emotion fill him as he tore his gaze away, his feet carrying him from the shop much more quickly than he had entered.

It wasn't until he was far from the shop that he was able to suppress the sadness that came with thoughts of Rin, Obito, and even his father, and a reminder of the some of the greatest mistakes he had made in his young life. He wasn't sure how a few plants could have gotten him so worked up, but there had been something about them that had struck him on a very personal level. It made him want to return to the shop and at the same time avoid it.

Still, as the day wore on he couldn't help but think about the shop and its mesmerizing flowers. It was distracting in a way completely different than his ravenous appetite for Icha Icha. He found himself wondering if the plants really could have had such an affect on him or if it had just been the quiet of the morning. His mind couldn't focus on training or the few conversations he had as his curiosity became like an annoying itch he couldn't scratch.

_Just go back and look at them again,_ he finally told himself after missing nearly everything in a story Gai was telling him. _You'll be worthless until you clear your head._

Taking his own advice, he gave his excuses and quickly made his way through the newly reconstructed city. It was nothing like the Konoha he grew up in, that city having been nearly destroyed by the Nine-Tails. Even now, the rapid construction and surge of refugees from the war had made newest version different from the one he had lived in for most of his young adult years There were far more two and three-story buildings lining twisting streets that sloped down into the crater created by Nagato.

The little flower stall was just outside a small market that boasted little more than a teashop, a seamstress, and a few household vendors. He let his feet carry him back the way he had traveled earlier that morning, weaving between the housewives doing their shopping until he found himself standing alone amongst the flowers.

Unlike the rest of the market, the woman's shop was empty, most of the arrangements from that morning still sitting on their tables. He assumed an uninterested air, masking his apprehension as he moved towards the one creation that had stirred up images of the past.

Looking at the flowers, he could see what reminded him of the Kannabi Bridge. Somehow, the woman almost seemed to replicate it with small curving bamboo stalks that wove in and out of dried pieces of wood and oak branches. Yet in the midday light the artistic similarities weren't enough to conjure up the images of his old teammates and that fateful mission like they had earlier.

A hard voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts, its feminine owner giving him smile that didn't reach her dark eyes. "Can I help you?"

There was something in the way her cold look contrasted with her smooth, pretty face that made him stare for a moment. "I'm just browsing."

"Alright."

He watched her as she moved back to along table, her delicate hands carefully picking up an orchid and turning it slowly. Her face became critical, her eyes focused on her task as she carefully cut the plant and placed it in a glass bowl. She continued the process, adding a vine and wrapping it along the length of the orchid. As she added a few more pieces, the arrangement morphed from individual colors and objects into a cohesive, living sculpture that reminded him of a small pond that his father had taken him to before he had started at the academy.

The transformation of such simple materials was amazing, only to be rivaled by the change the work seemed to create in the woman. Just like that morning, he was struck by the grace of her movements and the way her long hair fell around her face. There was a critical spark to her eyes that hadn't been there when he entered the shop, morphing her stony façade into something more intriguing.

Again she looked at him, her face becoming a cold mask of serenity while her eyes burned like a wildfire. "I'm about to close. If you are interested in something or looking for something in particular please let me know."

"I think I'm fine for today," he answered, giving her a masked smile.

She didn't return the gesture, her dark eyes burning from the emotionless mask of her pretty face as she gave him a curt bow. "Thank you for stopping."

He returned the gesture with a nod and left the shop with every intention of returning the next day, the pretty woman and her flowers running through his mind. There was something about her and the arrangements she created that he couldn't quite identify, something as intriguing as the woman that made them. And even if it took months, he was determined to figure it out.

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Yukiko continued the routines that were set out by her father, and his father before him with the diligence of a faithful daughter. Every morning she would rise and meditate, bringing her body into balance before even thinking about the days work. To be a master of ikebana one had to understand nature, the flow and transitions of seasons, and feel an innate harmony and balance between the curves and lines of her creations and the world around her. This, though, had become the hardest part of her day. She was angry and full of bitterness, making finding inner balance almost impossible.

There was no room for emotional distractions in her work. It tainted her connection to the beauty and spirit of nature, but no matter she told herself or how hard she tried to forgive those she held responsible for her family's death she couldn't let the feelings go. They were always there, simmering just below the surface, waiting for a chance to consume her.

She did her best to appear serene and composed during the day, making her presence amongst her creations just as much a work of art as the flowers. Her mother had trained her how to move with grace, making her limbs follow the same lines and angles as her flowers with each movement. The customer, she had said, should never feel uneasy when looking at their work. They should instead feel that they slipped into a world of harmony and beauty that they could bring to their home with a purchase.

Of course this was harder to do on a crowded street from a small wooden stall, the screams of children and loud conversations of people disrupting the atmosphere she tried to create. Konoha was a far cry from the little village she had lived in her whole life and the small shop that had been one of the highlights of the town. Here, she was just another refuge and her shop was nothing more than a small open stall with a few shelves and tables.

That was another reality that was hard to handle. Before the war her family had been something. Maybe not to the shinobis who seemed to forget about the _lesser_ humans that inhabited the world, but her family name was respected along with their position their wealth bought them in society. But that was now in the past. Along with her family's lives, the fortune was gone, and her small town nothing more than ruins.

She came to Konoha with nothing but a few of her father's tools and the skill that she had spent her life learning. Yet even that didn't seem like it would be enough to ever return her to the life she had once lived. Her art was considered a luxury, leaving few to even stop and look at her pieces of art let alone buy them. By dusk she had only six visitors, two of those buying the most inexpensive arrangements. It was pitiful compared to the business her father use to attract. Even when they weren't traveling from town to town, there had always been a steady stream of orders for her father's renowned work. She doubted that there wasn't a rich home that didn't at one time have a Hayashi creation. Unfortunately her name didn't carry the same sort of weight as her father's, and with the war to many it seemed senseless to be buying expensive pieces when the world was in chaos.

Sighing, she decided it might be worth closing early when a man lazily ambled in, his hands in his pockets while his single uncovered eye studied her pieces from over a black mask. This wasn't the first time she had seen the man, his silver-white hair sticking out at odd angles from over a forehead protector had become a common sight around her stall. Though he only had entered it once during business hours, she had caught him inspecting her wares nearly every morning for a month after she left to have a cup of tea.

Despite his apparent interest, he never bought anything. Not that she would expect a member of the _proud_ and _honorable_ Hidden Leaf shinobi to actually pay to admire her art. Still, the business woman in her forced down the biting comments she wanted to fling at the intrusive man. Life was hard enough without turning away potential customers, no matter who they were.

Giving him a quick, shallow bow she returned to inspecting long stalks of grass that had just begun to seed, taking in their every detail before setting each aside in disgust. Before the war, seeds and unopened blossoms had been some of her favorite things to work with, but now she found herself uninspired even by the simplest image of growth and life. It was just one more thing the shinobi and their war had taken from her.

_And they don't even care what they've done to us,_ she thought bitterly, following her shinobi customer with a cold glare. _They think that they have saved us, but all they did was protect us from the horrible death that they attracted to our doors._

The man turned and met her eye, his masked face showing nothing of his thoughts or emotions. To many, she was sure the mask was viewed as a sign of strength or a method of intimidation, but to her it was just another reminder that their _powerful protectors_ were nothing but empty shells that felt none of the pain and suffering of the people.

"May I help you?" she finally asked as he continued to stare at her.

"Hello, I'm looking for a…gift…for someone," came his strong voice, the one visible eye darting from her flowers to her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable.

"Well any one of my arrangements could be used as a gift, but I usually suggest you try to find one that reminds you of the person."

"Alright," he said slowly, his eye immediately locking onto a simple red pot that had three intertwined twigs surrounding two purple orchid blossoms. She watched as a frown moved under his mask, his eye becoming sad.

Moving to the plant she lifted it from its stand and brought it into the light. It reminded her of the twins her sister had only just given birth to when the war started. They had been a brief glimpse of life in an otherwise barren world, only to be snatched away like the rest of her family.

She cleared her throat to cover the grief that threatened to escape her, presenting the arrangement to the masked man. "Is this the one?"

"Yes," he answered, lightly touching one of the orchids. "This is perfect." There was a lingering sadness in his words that surprised her. He always looked so calm and apathetic in the early morning hours when he snuck through her shop. It was strange and slightly unsettling to hear the emotion coming from him.

"Would you like a note or card for it as well?"

"That's not necessary," he answered quickly, his one visible eye mimicking the emotion that lined his voice.

Wanting nothing more than the jarring transaction to be over, she quickly placed her living art into a box and gave it to the shinobi with a quick bow. "Thank you…"

"Hatake Kakashi."

"Thank you, Hatake-sama. I hope you enjoy their beauty."

She watched as his lips moved the mask into a small smile that didn't reach his eye. "I'm sure I will."


	3. Chapter 2

AN: This is short, but it felt natural to end the chapter here. A big thank you to the guests that have reviewed my story. I truly appreciate that you took the time to write something. And, as always, I hope you enjoy the latest update.

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**Chapter 2**

Kakashi's thoughts were heavy as he walked away from the woman's stall. He had told himself he was going to stop visiting the shop, that he would stop watching the woman and the almost magical work that she did. Yet he just couldn't stay away. Every morning he found some reason to walk down that particular street, giving him the chance to look at her creations during those few silent minutes of transition between night and day.

Without fail there would be at least one arrangement that evoked some sort of memory, muddling his mind with the emotions that came with it. He knew what he was doing was foolish. He couldn't afford to let his past cloud the present, distracting him from his duty. Not being completely focused on his training and missions as a shinobi could mean not only the death or capture of himself, but that of his teammates. There was no room in his life for a graceful florist, no matter how her smooth movements seemed to captivate him or her work touched him.

It was that bit of logic that had urged him to walk away after watching simply wasn't enough. Her simple beauty was enticing, her calm manner of talking and moving alluring, and the art she created intriguing. He could no longer listen to his head as his feet became their own masters and led him to her stall. His body felt light and off-balance when she approached him, her scent mimicking those of the flowers and plants she worked with. It was intoxicating, leaving him uncaring about her hard look or his complete inability to hold a conversation with her.

Yet for all the giddy feelings of attraction and curiosity that were coursing through him, her simple question of whether he was interested in an arrangement or not had inevitably led to him buying the one piece that had probably shaken him the most. It was beautiful in a barren and tragic sort of way. It was like spotting a plant desperately trying to cling to life after the first real snow of winter. The little blossoms looked almost rebellious against the dried wood that surrounded them, reminding him even more of one of his dearest friends that he had failed.

The thought of Rin plagued him to some extent every single day since his hand had inadvertently taken her life. Often it was just the lingering sadness and feelings of guilt and failure in the early morning hours or those dark moments before sleep. Yet the woman's arrangement reminded him of her eyes and the way that they would shine with life and hope despite the ugly world they lived in. Even after her torture, she hadn't fallen into despair or guilt but had carried on with her amazingly strong will when others would have crumbled. He couldn't imagine the strength it took for her to leap in front his attack, knowing it would be her death.

_So much death,_ he thought grimly as he glanced down at the box that held only two delicate blooms clinging to life in a world that did nothing but try snuff them out. Rin had fought for her life just like the orchids, a small bit of beauty in an ugly world. Still, even after the torture and kidnappings, she had chosen to sacrifice herself for the lives of others even though she had seen enough of the world to know that eventually death would seek out Konoha again.

His thoughts were only made stronger by the hundreds of quickly erected shrines, memorials, and graves that held the names of those lost in just his thirty-some years. Weaving his way to his old comrade's memorial he couldn't help but wonder when the bloodshed out end. The peace brought on by the war wouldn't last, history made that abundantly clear, but could Konoha ever heal from the wounds such great loss and death created? He wasn't so sure that it could, his greeting to Rin voicing the sentiment as he set the flowers by her grave.

"I sometimes wonder why I was the one to survive between us," he whispered to the cold stone. "This world has enough death. It should have been the healer that lived and the warrior that died."

Silence greeted him, as it always did, his eyes growing unfocused as he thought of all the death that came at his hands. It was part of being a shinobi, but that didn't make the aftermath any easier especially when it was those of friends. He could only comfort himself in that so many had been saved by his actions and that Konoha still existed because of his kind. Although at times even that solace felt hollow.

"But enough of that talk. I brought you something from that shop I told you about. It reminds me of you, actually. I think you would have liked them. And no, I didn't go there just for the girl, though that was a bonus. Though really I just thought it was a cool birthday present. It's not every year I spend that sort of money on you," he finished, slipping back into the sarcasm that was just as much of a mask as the cloth covering his face. "Then again, it's not every year you would turning forty."

Touching the stone lightly, he gave the flowers one last weak smile. "Happy birthday, Rin. Maybe next year I'll be celebrating with you."


End file.
